


March

by way1203



Series: Struggling Birds [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Bat Brothers, Bat Family, Batfamily Feels, Big Brother Dick Grayson, Brotherly Angst, Brotherly Bonding, Damian Wayne is Robin, Depression, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Hurt Tim Drake, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Poor Tim Drake, Protective Dick Grayson, Protective Jason, Suicidal Thoughts, Tim Drake is Red Robin, Tim drake needs a hug, Tim's not okay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-20
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2019-01-01 02:19:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12146535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/way1203/pseuds/way1203
Summary: Tim crashes every March.





	1. March 11

**Author's Note:**

> I was surprised by how well received Floating was, so I opted to write this one centered on Tim. Thanks to everyone who read the first. It means so much! I'm still writing my way out of my own depression. 
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> **Mentions of depression and suicide. If this triggers you, stop now.**

Tim clutched the seat of the toilet, his back muscles clenching as he retched into the bowl. Nothing would come out. Probably because he hadn't ingested anything in almost two days. No, that was a lie. He'd had water and black coffee and a few orange Tic Tacs he'd found in the pocket of an old pair of jeans. He never fed himself properly when he was feeling like this. _Empty_. _Tired_. _Low_. 

He heaved again and, when he failed to actually vomit, spit into the water and flushed. The sound helped clear his mind. Why couldn't he be like toilet water? One flush and all of his crap and problems would disappear and he'd come back like new. Tim sighed. Was this where he was? Wanting to be a toilet? Fuck, had he really sunk that low? Tim stood. When was the last time he went to the bathroom? He unzipped his pants, pushed his boxers aside, and successfully relieved himself. He noticed the color and made a mental note to drink more water, shook, zipped, and flushed again. He pushed the sleeves of his jacket up his arms on the way to the sink.

 _Wash your hands._  He told himself.  _You haven't bathed in days. Wash your hands at least so they won't be as gross as you are._

Then again, if he didn't wash his hands, maybe he'd get sick. He'd been told shortly after losing his spleen that he needed to wash his hands, take care of himself, eat healthy, and he'd live normally with minor monitoring. Sometimes, when he was feeling like this, he didn't do any of that because he hoped that sickness would enter his body and spread like wildfire so that he could finally be done with his life. But hospitals freaked him out, and he honestly didn't want to die on a stretcher in the Batcave or Dr. Thompkin's clinic.

Tim washed his hands and wiped his face with a damp cloth. The sight of his reflection startled him. Maybe he should go to bed. Sleep sounded like a good idea. Like the toilet water, he could disappear for a while, then wake up like new. He almost laughed at his thoughts. He'd have to actually get rest for that to work. Part of the reason he'd been awake so long was because he couldn't sleep and, when he managed to doze off, he woke up feeling ten times worse. There was no use in trying to sleep when he was  _low_.

Tim cursed himself. He should have known when he turned the calendar weeks ago that it was coming. Now it was March 11 and he really had no excuse. It came every year like clockwork. His mind wrestled him down and bound him tightly to tracks while his body listened to the warning whistles of the train heading straight for him. Even when he prepared, the impact never got easier. This time, his appetite and his will to do anything were passengers on the train, speeding far away from his body and leaving him even more weakened than previous times. 

The only thing saving him from any type of suspicion was the fact that Bruce and Alfred were away. Dick had been asked to stay with the boys because Bruce didn't trust Tim and Damian not to murder each other while he was gone.  _It isn't Damian he needs to worry about in regards to my life,_ thought Tim. _It's me._

There was a knock on the door.

"Drake, what's taking you so long? Did the realization of your weakness finally make you sick?"

 _Fuck that little brat_. Tim clenched his jaw. "Leave me alone."

He really wasn't in the mood for Damian's bullshit. He was tired, and already low key angry with everyone in the Bat family. At least Damian was obvious with his distain. Everyone else smiled and treated him nicely. But deep inside, Tim knew they all hated him. They thought he was a nuisance—some sort of stray thing that wandered in uninvited and had long outstayed his welcome.

What upset Tim the most was Bruce. He used to think Bruce adopted him because he actually wanted him, that he became a Wayne because Bruce wanted him to be his son. Now it seemed to Tim that that wasn't true—and that hurt. Why would Bruce go through the trouble of adopting him if he never really wanted him in the first place? The more Tim thought about it, the more he hated himself. He was foolish to think he'd be worthy of having a second shot at a family. The only one who even remotely cared was Alfred, but the elderly man cared for everyone he met so there was really nothing special about it. Tim was worthless.

 _You were worthless before you met Bruce and you are even more worthless now. That's why they took Robin from you. You're worthless, Tim. You're a waste of space. I bet if you ended it, no one would even mourn you._  
  
"Drake." That Gremlin still lingered outside. "Richard sent me here to summon you. You haven't been downstairs for meals and he's concerned. I suggest you see him. It'll give me a break from listening to all of those disgusting noises of yours emanating from this room."

Tim swung the door open. "Fine. Get out of my way."

Damian lifted an eyebrow and gave the older Wayne a once over. "Look, not that I care, but your appearance is even more of an eyesore than usual."

"Shut up, you little punk!"

"What's going on here?" Dick stood at the opposite end of the hall, his arms folded. "Tim, ignore him and come here. Damian, go draw or something."

The youngest Wayne sucked his teeth and headed off toward his room. Tim trudged toward Nightwing. His legs were lead blocks slowing his pace substantially as he plopped one foot after the other. Once Tim managed to reach the acrobat, he blinked up at him, a bleariness working its way across his vision. Dick lifted his brother's chin.

"Whoa, Timbo, you okay? You don't look so good."

Tim slapped his hand away. "Thanks. I'm fine."

"Are you hungry? I haven't seen you downstairs since B left."

" _I'm fine_."

"Tim, you've been through a lot lately. If you want to talk..."

 _About what? My parents? My girlfriend? Bart? My...Conner? The fact that you replaced me with Damian when we thought we lost Bruce forever? The fact that Jason hates me?_  Tim shook his head. "I'm fine."

"Hey." Dick gripped his brother's shoulders. "It's okay if you don't feel good right now. You've lost—"

"Leave me alone."

"Not until I see you eat something."

Tim rolled his eyes. The eldest bird wasn't going to go away, so he decided to placate him. " _Fine_."

Dick grinned and Tim immediately felt horrible. Nightwing was only trying to be nice. Maybe he _should_ eat something so he could be less of a, for lack of a better word, dick to the nicest person in the manor. His brother slipped an arm around his shoulder. "Come on, Timmy. Your portion of last night's takeout is still there."

Tim followed Dick downstairs and the sight waiting for him nearly made him vomit for real. Jason sat on the kitchen island stuffing forkfuls of chow mein past his lips. Tim grimaced. That man was the last person he needed to see in this house at this moment. The microwave beeped.

"Your food's ready, Babybird." Dick passed him the warmed carton. "It's your favorite. Orange chicken, right?"

"Yeah."

"You look like hell," said Red Hood. "Maybe you should come up for air more often. If you're gonna be my spare parts, you need to at least  _look_  healthy."

Tim narrowed his eyes. " _Fuck you_."

Dick's jaw dropped. Jason began to cough. Within seconds, his ex-idol recovered, cleared his throat, and said, "I  _know_  that wasn't directed at me."

"You're stupid, Todd, but I didn't realize you were ignorant. Of  _course_  it was meant for you."

"Oh, hell no. Do you have  _any_  idea—?” He slammed his carton down. “Little shit. Who the  _fuck_  you think you're talking to like that?"

"You. Jason Todd, the resurrected Robin that replaced Dick but got himself killed because he couldn't fend off a clown."

"You little—"

"Jason, stop!" Dick interjected as he positioned himself between the two.

"Move, Dickwad, I gonna pop him," snapped Jason. "He's been hanging around the demon brat for too long if thinks he can get away with saying shit like that."

"Breathe. You're not going to touch him."

"Of course he's not," muttered Tim. "He's too much of a—"

"Tim, cool it!  _Now_."

"For what? The  _one_  time I defend myself—"

" _Timothy, I mean it_." The eldest Wayne turned and held up an egg roll. "If you're going to open your mouth, put this in it. You wouldn't be acting this way, no, you would be this  _agitated_  if you hadn't been starving yourself. Eat."

Tim cracked his neck. _Agitated?_ Oh, no. Dick hadn't seen _agitated_ yet. "Would everyone just stop pretending like they're worried about me? No one in this so-called family gives a shit about me. I'm just a replacement—some charity case that Bruce took on. You constantly tease me. You're always treating me like some outsider. I swear to fuck!" Tim kicked the island. "I'm sick of it! I hate all of you."

Jason and Dick said nothing. Damian, who had suddenly appeared in the doorway, leaned against the frame, a smirk spreading across his lips. "Let it out, Drake. It's about time you realized your lack of worth to this family."

Tim growled and launched himself at the preteen. Damian leapt out of the way, causing Red Robin to crash to the floor. He slid against the wood and stopped just before the rug. Tim covered his face with his hands.

"Pathetic. You can't even hit an easy target. Stay down there. It's best not to embarrass yourself any further."

Tim didn't have it in him to respond. Instead, he curled his knees toward his chest and pressed his face into his sleeves in a vain attempt to hide the fact that he'd started crying.

"-Tt- and they call  _me_  a baby. Tears are—"

"Damian, enough!" Dick snapped. "If you're going to be rude, leave."

Tim listened to the youngest Wayne's steps recede toward the cave. Jason's boots fell heavy against the wood on their way toward him, followed closely by the light padding of Dick's bare feet. Tim curled further into himself. Everyone just needed to leave him alone. He made himself feel bad enough without the help of them.

"Hey, spare parts—"

"Stop," sniffed Tim. "Stop calling me that."

"Tim." It was Dick now. There was that familiar pop that the acrobat’s knees gave from time to time when he crouched. A hand gently touched Tim's back and he shrugged him off. He didn't want to be touched right now. Why couldn't everyone just go away? "Tim. Hey, what's going on? I'm used to you going after Dami, but this? This behavior...this is something else entirely. This isn't like you. Tell _me_ —tell _us_. What's going on, Tim?"

"Don't pretend you give a shit about me."

"We're not pretending. Are we Jason?"

"No."

Tim didn't unclench himself to see his brother's face. It was easier to just  _believe_  he was lying. If he saw the physical evidence of it on his expression, it would hurt too much

Jason continued. "Look, twerp, something's gotta be eating you for you to go for my jugular like that. What's going on?"

Tim shook his head. _Jason doesn't give a damn about you. He hates that you were Robin. He doesn't actually care about you._  
  
"No, uh-uhn, if this is going to work, you're gonna have to speak. What's up? Is this you acting out because you lost people you love?"

Tim remained still as his mind released thoughts one by one like balloons at a memorial.  _They don't care about you. They're only doing this because you're in their way. You couldn’t even hit Damian. You’re a waste._  
  
It was Dick's turn. "You haven't been downstairs in days. You don't look like you've showered. I haven't seen you eat. You're not…" He paused. "Tim, don't be offended, but I have to ask, are you depressed?"

At that word, Tim noticeably stiffened. He'd been found out. He'd been careful. He was trying not to let it show, trying desperately to hold it in and not let on that his world had long since caved in, and every hope he'd had of things getting better had been buried three separate times, and now rested several feet deep in various cemeteries. He'd failed at hiding it when he had his little outburst in the kitchen. What the hell did the Boy Wonder know about depression, anyway?

"It's okay if you are." Jason huffed as Tim listened to him settle on the floor by his hip. "You can tell us. I've been there. Passed go and collected 200 dollars so many times I could build my own mansion."

"I've been there a several times, too, Tim," said Dick softly. "It sucks. _It hurts_."

Now that surprised Tim. Dick was always so happy. He was the fucking glue for the family. If Dick didn't have his shit together, then what did that mean for the rest of them? Tim slowly sat up. The action made his head pound.

"There he is! Our Babybird."

Tim frowned, "I'm sorry. Jay, I—"

Jason held up a hand. "That was your one free pass. I’m serious. Do it again, and I swear to God I'll beat your ass."

"Got it."  _He's angry at you. You fucked up. You're better off dead._

Dick brushed Tim's hair away from his face. "How bad is it?"

"Bad."

"Care to elaborate? I know you're not taking care of yourself. How bad is bad for you, Tim?"

"Pretty bad."

Jason furrowed his brow. "You're not suicidal, are you, kid?"

Tim froze. His blood rushed in his ears. He couldn't be honest. If he was, they'd definitely overreact. They'd smother him. They'd send him to get help. Dick would probably tell their dad and then Batman would make him sit out of patrol.

"I'm gonna need an answer to my question, Tim." The coldness in Jason's tone scared him. "Do you  _want_  to kill yourself? Do you think we'd be better off if you're not around?"

Tim kept quiet and bowed his head.  _This is a trap. They were just pretending to care._

Dick tilted his head in an attempt to get a look at his brother's face. "You can tell us," he urged. "It'll stay between us. We won't tell B."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

He couldn't help but notice that Jason didn't promise. Tim didn't expect him to because it honestly wasn't in the older boy's nature. Still, the lack of agreement worried him.  _They're going to tell Bruce and then he'll finally have an excuse for kicking you out._  
  
"Babybird?"

Tim looked down at his hands. A tear landed on his thumb. "There's been times when I haven't exactly...cared...if I die."

"Have you been reckless on patrol?"

He could only nod.

" _Jesus_." Jason ran a hand over his face. "Kid, why didn't you tell someone?"

Tim shrugged. "Because you all hate me and think I'm some pity project of Bruce's and that I don't deserve to be Robin."

"Who the fuck said that?"

"You and Damian." The younger Robin hiccuped. "I wouldn't be surprised if you thought it, too, Dick."

Dick shook his head. "No, Tim, I haven't. You earned Robin."

"But you didn't think that when you made Damian Robin."

Nightwing sighed. "Tim, I'm sorry. I didn't mean for that to hurt you. I figured you'd be upset but understanding. I didn't think—"

"Yeah, you  _didn't_  think," said Tim. "That's the problem."

"I'm sorry. I should've told you what I was doing. You didn't do anything wrong. I'm sorry I made you think you did something to lose the title."

Tim bent his knee, rested his palms on it, then set his chin on the top of his hands. "Yeah."

"I mean it."

"Yeah."

Jason stood. "That's it. Kid, get up. If we're gonna keep talking heavy, you need food."

"I'm not hungry."

"Yes, you are. You're going to eat something even if I have to spoon feed it to you."

* * *

 

The boys ate in silence. Tim tore through his dinner from the night before and part of his lunch from that day. To Dick's delight, he also drank three glasses of water. The food did nothing except leave a greasy brick in Tim's stomach, though he had to admit it managed to ease his headache.

"Tim, I'm sorry." Dick reached across the table and patted his brother's hand. "Anything I've said or done to you to make you believe you were worthless or unwanted is my fault, and I apologize. When B told me he adopted you, I was happy because I got another brother. That hasn't changed. Tim, I care about you."

 _He's only saying this because you said you were suicidal. He doesn't really care. If he did, he'd have been there for you more._ Tim swallowed.   
  
Jason folded his arms. "I'm not gonna lie, I didn't like you. But you've really grown on me, Babybird, and now you're my family. We don't have to like each other all the time—hell, I  _don't_  like you all the time—but I'm not gonna let you get away with wasting away. I swear, first Dick, and now you. Tim, listen, if you need help, ask. Come to me, come to Dick, say something. I hate being the last to know. There's things we can do. You don't have to suffer." He ran a hand through his hair, a deep breath moving through his nose and out of his mouth. "Kid, we've all been through trauma. You can tell us if the kind you've taken lately is too much to handle. We can help."

Tim blinked. _Yeah, right_. As heartfelt as both of his brothers were being, it did nothing to help. It bypsssed his brain and went straight into the air. He really just wanted to be alone right now.

He peeled himself off the stool. "Yeah. Thanks guys. I'll keep that in mind."

Dick and Jason's eyes felt heavy on Tim as he left the kitchen. He just needed to go to sleep. Being awake seemed like a waste right now.

"Tim, wait."

He turned around just as Dick pulled him into a tight hug. Tim fought it. He didn't want Dick holding him. He didn't want Jason caring about him. He wanted his bed. He wanted Steph. He wanted Bart and Conner. Just one more hug from each of them. He just wanted someone to care like they did. Someone to hold him...like Dick was trying to do now. Dick held on and Tim gradually allowed himself to lean into the contact. The sensation of arms around his frame and a warm, protective body against him made him realize how touch starved he was. He'd locked himself away and avoided people and he'd forgotten that he was human. This hug right now, this sincere gesture of Dick's affection for him, was something Tim couldn't and wouldn't brush off so easily. He hadn't been hugged like this since he lost them. Why did he have to lose all of them? He knew he'd lose his parents one day, but not his friends. Never his friends. They were all young. They were his family. Back when everything was terrible, they'd been that glimmer of hope. Now...

 _Stop, stop crying. Stop. Stop. Stop. Not in front of them._  
  
A sob kicked it's way out of his throat. Tim closed his eyes and let his shoulders drop. He slung his arms around his brother's torso.

_You're actually doing this, aren't you? You're gonna cry like a three-year-old in his arms? Pathetic. Damian's right. He sees you for what you are: a pathetic waste of space. Dick doesn't give a shit about you. Jason never liked you. He even admitted to not liking you now. Just do them a favor and go._

He couldn't stop sobbing, his body jerking with each stunted breath that lept from his lungs. Dick placed a hand on the back of his head.

"Shh, Tim, it's okay. I've got you." He pressed his mouth into his brother's hair. "I've got you. Let it out."

"I miss...I miss them..all of them... Dick...I can't...I can never be happy. It...it always..gets taken away...from me."

Dick shushed him. Tim felt an extra set of hands on his back. Jason sighed. "You had a lot of losses, kid. It's not weak to be impacted by that."

"I'm not strong enough."

"Yes, you are." Jason's voice blended with Dick's, and the combination only made Tim cry that much harder.

"I'm worthless."

"No, you're not," whispered Dick, his voice wavering. He planted another kiss against his head. "You're B's son. You're Red Robin. You're my little brother. Tim, you're not worthless. Do you hear me?"

Tim nodded and gripped the back of his brother's shirt. There was something wet against his head. Tim felt the shakiness of Nightwing's breathing.

Dick pulled back, his hands shifting to Tim's jaw. "You're not worthless. You're strong. You're part of this family."

"I'm not gonna cry like Dickwad here, but I'll tell you what the old man told me." Jason clapped a hand on his shoulder. "You were chosen. You were adopted into this family because you are wanted, Tim. Br...our dad...he wanted you to be his son. He may act like an ass but he chose each of us because he cares about us. We're lucky. Damian's the only one he got stuck with."

Tim gave a small laugh. He'd forgotten what it felt like to laugh, or to find something even remotely funny. Maybe they  _could_  help him.

"Don't throw it away. B couldn't handle it. You saw what happened when he lost us. If he loses you, who's gonna save Gotham from him?"

Jason did have a point. No one else could do what he did after he was killed. Maybe he wasn't as replaceable as he thought.

"We don't know you're not okay unless you tell us."

"Tim," Dick wiped his own eyes. "Please let us help you. We don't want to lose you. If you don't want us to help, then we can get you help. Please, just don't give into it."

"I'll try not to let it get this bad," said Tim. "I guess I'll start talking to you two...at least until I get through this."

"That's all we ask."


	2. March 12: Nightmares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had three nightmares in one night a couple of nights ago, and this chapter came to mind shortly after. I guess I'm continuing this. Thank you again for your support, kudos, and kind words!
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> **Trigger warning still stands for talk of depression and suicidal thoughts**

Tim sat upright, his heart pumping rapidly in his chest.

_They are coming. They are coming to kill you. The men that murdered Bruce and Dick in front of you, the ones that stabbed Jason repeatedly with a crooked smile, the ones that took Damian and beat him until his head leaked onto the stones of the Cave, are now headed up the stairs and are coming for you. They are coming to finish the job._

Tim didn't run. His mind continued to tell him that these horrible things had happened and were about to happen to him, but still, he didn't move. He stayed beneath his blanket, staring at the darkened space around him until his eyelids grew heavy and he went back to sleep.

He woke up again scared shitless, his body glued to the mattress.  _They're coming to kill you. Their bodies were found mutilated and now they're coming for yours._  He closed his eyes again.

This time when he woke he was calm. Unlike the two previous times when he'd been incredibly convinced that what he'd dreamt was real, Tim opened his eyes this time with the understanding that what he just visualized was a product of his overworked mind. Three nightmares in one night—a new record. He reached for his phone and lifted it up to see the display.

6:07 AM

Tim sat up. There was no point in going back to sleep now. He already managed to sleep later than he had in quite some time. Tim wrapped his blanket around his shoulders and crept downstairs. The darkness reminded him that Alfred and Bruce were still in Napa. He frowned when there was no sign of anyone in the kitchen. He half expected Dick to be awake. After all, Nightwing and Robin went on patrol until the wee hours of the morning, while Red Hood was left at home to babysit him. Tim switched on the oven's overhead light and started the Nespresso. The machine had been a gift from Bruce on his last birthday, along with a large variety of pods. He'd been perfectly content with the standard coffee maker, but the rest of the family apparently found it necessary for him to have his own. He selected one of the stronger flavor pods from a drawer and popped it in.

 _Too early._  
  
He shuffled over to the second cabinet from the left where the bottom two shelves were reserved exclusively for his small collection of mugs. He stood on his toes to reach for a wide yellow one in the back, retrieved it, and placed it under the spout just as his Envivo Lungo began to dispense. Tim watched the mug fill to just the right level and switched off the Nespresso. He carefully lifted his first cup of the day. The warmth against his hands gave him comfort and the smell helped clear his mind. A deep sigh escaped him. How long had he been holding that in? He took a sip. 

"How long you been up?"

Tim jerked. Coffee burned his top lip and he nearly dropped his mug. He quickly recovered his grip. _Fuck. Fuck. Ow_ _!_ Tim's adrenaline settled slightly when his mind put the voice to a name. Jason flicked the lights on from his place in the doorway. His ratty shirt appeared rumpled and he'd tied the drawstring of his boxers in a knot. It seemed to Tim that Hood had literally just rolled out of bed. His hair stuck out and his blues had a nice tinge of red surrounding them. Jason sniffed once then gave a small sneeze. Tim blinked. He listened to his older brother groan. The second oldest Robin proceeded to reach into a drawer and shake two pieces of blister pack from a pink-and-blue box. He quietly moved to the fridge to grab a bottle of water as Tim watched with mild curiosity. He'd heard from Dick that, out of everyone in the Bat-family, Jason suffered the most from seasonal allergies. It felt odd finally seeing the evidence of this for himself.

Red Hood grumbled and struggled with the packaging. The sight almost made Tim laugh. His brother could take out a room full of rogues in five minutes, but he couldn't open his allergy medicine. Jason let out a quiet  _hah!_ and downed the dose of Benadryl with a gulp of water. Tim suppressed a yawn. He thought about going back upstairs. He wasn’t sure about spending the morning around his brother after their depression chat last night. Suddenly, Jason lifted his eyebrows, screwed his eyes shut, and sneezed twice into the crook of his arm. Red Robin just stood there quietly blowing on his coffee.

"You sure you need to drink that, Babybird?" Jason yawned. "You're already jumpy and sleepless as it is."

The younger Wayne lifted the mug to his lips and took a defiant sip of the still-too-hot liquid.

"Suit yourself, kid. Gonna put some waffles in the toaster. Want some?"

Tim looked down at his coffee. "Hood, can I ask you something?"

"What?"

"What's it like to die?"

" _What?_ "

"What's it like to die?"

"No, I heard you the first time." Jason's eyes narrowed. "Are you serious right now?"

Tim swallowed.  _You crossed a line again. Why are you so stupid? He forgave you last night and now you've pissed him off again. What's wrong with you? How dare you?_

"I'm not gonna tell you because I'm not gonna let you die. You're making it through this even if I have to watch you every second of every day. I'm not gonna let the depression take you."

_That's what you think. You're too busy disappearing to God knows where. How the hell are you gonna protect me?_

Jason sneezed and folded his arms. Tim brought his coffee back to his lips. What was Jay looking at him like that for? Oh,  _fuck_ , did he say that out loud? He groaned inwardly.  _Shit, shit, shit._

"Want to say that disappearing comment to me a little louder, Babybird?" Jason cocked his head. "If you still think you want to die, I'm just going to tell you now from personal experience that being resurrected is enough to make you want to live as long as you possibly can the first time around."

Fear coiled in the pit of Tim's stomach. He set his coffee aside. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're the smartest one in this house, you know exactly what the fuck I mean."

The brothers exchanged glares. Jason took a slow sip of water without so much as looking away from him. Tim felt anger rise through him.  _That's fine. If he wants to be a dick about it, two can play at that game._

"I do," said Tim. "I just don't get why you won't just tell me what it's like to die. You're...you know…you're the most approachable and the expert—"

The expression on Jason's face made him stop speaking and immediately regret his words. He wanted to apologize but it was way too late. He'd pissed him off.

Jason set the bottle down and shook his head. He let out a breathy chuckle. "Wow," he shook his head again. "Wow, you don't get it. You  _really_  don't fucking get it, do you? I didn't  _choose_  to die, Damian didn't either, and I can bet B didn't….How do I explain this?... Um, being resurrected isn't fun. And before you stand over there and say 'I won't be brought back', yes, you  _fucking_  will. Bruce doesn't rest when his sons are gone. He's one obsessive son of a bitch. You saw what happened with Damian. I have no clue what happened after I went but I can guess it was similar. Maybe…" Jason sniffed and waved his hand. "I don't know, maybe something will shift, and you'll be brought back and you'll be forced to claw your ass out of a grave! Is that what you want, Tim? Do you really hate yourself  _that much_  that you'd take your ass out so you can claw yourself out of a casket in less than a year? Cause that's what's likely to happen!"

Tim didn't want that. He _really_ didn't. Last night, he realized how much he loved having a family, and thought things would be okay. Things changed again overnight (as they always do) and he started second guessing everything he'd said and heard. Then this morning, when he saw his mugs and heard his brother call him Babybird and offer him waffles, he felt better. But it was still back there, still nagging at him. Jason was right. Bruce  _would_  find a way to bring him back.

"You don't fucking want that to happen, Timothy!" shouted Jason with a slam of his fist on the counter. "I'm not fucking with you right now! I don't want that to happen to you! Anyone else except my Babybird. I give too many fucks about you to let that happen! Do you get that? All this pain, this shit you feel now, it's temporary. That coming back to life shit  _never_  goes away! You think you got demons now? You don't even fucking  _know_!" Jason's voice cracked. He placed his palms together and brought them to his mouth.

Tim noticed something in his peripheral and shifted his gaze. In the doorway stood the Gremlin and Dick, the first staring at the floor, the other not even trying to hide his pained expression. Jason took a deep breath and Tim returned his attention to him, bracing himself for round two.

"You said last night that you'd get help, and I'm holding you to it," said Jason. "I can't do it alone, or even with Dick and the demon brat. Tim, you feeling like this is serious shit. When Dad gets home tonight, you—"

Tim bristled.  _No, no, no. Not Bruce. He couldn't tell Bruce._  "No! I'm not talking to him about it."

"You're sure as shit going to do something. Either you're going to start seeing someone, you're going to get a prescription, you're gonna talk to us every single time you feel low and start finding ways to cope, or you're going to tell B and let him decide for you." He held up four fingers. "Four options. Choose one, choose all, but you'll be interested to know that suicide isn't on this list. Option 5?" He held up his thumb. "This is you not going on patrol until you sort your shit out. Now, I'm not exactly a fan of that option. Are you two?" Jason kept his eyes on Tim while Dick and Damian, after realizing he was now speaking directly to them, seemed to agree. "See? I want to help you. You have to want to help yourself, or this…this isn't gonna work. Do you want to help yourself?"

"I…I don't want to feel this way anymore."

"Do you want to help yourself?"

Tim knew Jason wasn't fucking around, and he honestly didn't blame him. If any of his brothers were where he was mentally, he'd react the same but without all of the intensity. He sighed. "I want to help myself."

Jason softened. "Then you have four options, Babybird. Think about it. You have until I finish these waffles to tell me your decision."

"Fine, I'll tell Bruce tonight," snapped Tim. "I'll have him send me to a doctor, is that what you want?"

"It's not about what I want! I know my depression. I have it on a leash, we go for walks occasionally, his name is Gayle. It's  _your_  depression. How you handle it is up to you. I didn't do meds and doctors."

"I did." Dick stepped in between them. "B sent me to the doctors when I was young. Things got to be too much again and I saw doctors and took medication when I was in college. I'm…I've been talking to friends and practicing mediation again to cope after Jay helped me with my latest…you know…"

Tim listened to his voice drop off and wondered if he was only jumping in because he'd had enough of Jason's preaching. Damian looked from Titus to the eldest Wayne. Something about the way he furrowed his brow made Tim realize that the brat had no idea what the Boy Wonder experienced internally. Then again, up until recently, neither did he. Discovering that the acrobat and ex-Batman had inner demons shook him. He couldn’t imagine what Damian must be thinking. That is, if he even _cared_ the way Tim did. He swirled his coffee. Is this what his brothers felt like yesterday when he told them? If so, then fuck. Tim frowned. Leave it to Dick to make him feel horrible.

Dick rubbed his eyes. "I guess what I'm trying to say is that you make the choice that works for you, Tim, as long as you're actively working to get better. Staying in that place isn't helpful to anyone, especially you. We want you to get better. You said you wanted to get better."

"I do," said Tim. "I want to get better."

"Then what do you want to do?"

"I think…I think I need to find an outlet. You know, something that makes me feel whole."

Jason nodded with a small smile. "Solid start."

"I...I think I still need to tell Bruce," Tim admitted. "I don't want to but..."

"You feel like he'll call you on your bullshit because some of us are too busy disappearing to protect you?"

Tim lowered his eyes. He deserved that.

"I take that as a 'yes'?"

"Yes."

Dick placed a hand on his shoulder. "That's fair. We can go with you when you tell him. I mean, if you want us to."

Tim met his brother's blues. "Please?"

"Whatever you need, Babybird."

Damian scoffed. "Pathetic! He needs assistance admitting weakness to Father? -Tt- Figures. Drake, your mental capabilities need strengthening. How am I supposed to take Wayne Enterprises from you if you…" he looked away. "If Grayson suffered turmoil from something that also impacted you and Todd, I'll join you tonight when you speak to Father about it."

All three of them stared at him. Tim debated pulling his brother into a hug, but that reaction was a bit too touchy-feely, even for him. Instead, he settled for a nod of thanks. The younger boy sucked his teeth, muttering something about going upstairs as he left the room. Jason sneezed twice.

"That was weird, right?" asked Dick. "And bless you."

"See?" Jason wiped his nose with a paper towel. "This is exactly why I don't make a habit of coming home."

"Tim, we'll all go with you to talk to B when he gets back. If he goes on patrol—"

"Before. We all know he'll be patrolling tonight."

"True. We'll bring it up during briefing then."

"Sound good, Babybird?"

Tim looked down at his coffee. He wasn't ready for this step. Every ounce of him screamed for him not to do it. He couldn't do it but, at the same time, he had to do it. Tim owed it to himself to let him know. He had to do it. If not as Bruce's son, then as Batman's partner. Batman needed to know that Red Robin wasn't okay. He took a deep breath and nodded.

"Yeah, sounds good." 


	3. March 12: Tensions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning still stands for talk of depression and suicidal thoughts

* * *

"You're not telling me something."

Jason stood with his back against the wall and watched Dick perform a handstand on the rings because he agreed to spot the natural acrobat while he trained. It wasn't like he actually needed it—Nightwing knew what he was doing on each piece of equipment, and he seemed to be a master at the twelve-foot-high discs. The one time Dick actually lost his grip, he managed to land with an aerial walkover followed by a back somersault to steady himself. Jason didn't need to be there—and he almost said no—but Dick had that _we need to talk_ look on his face, so he followed his predecessor.

Dick shifted his grip, his legs wavering slightly as he carefully redistributed his weight on his hands. "Huh?"

Jason stared up at him. "You aren't telling me something, Grayson."

"About what?"

"Tim." When Dick gave a brief chuckle and adjusted his handstand again, Red Hood folded his arms. "Look, I'm not stupid. Seriously, what aren't you telling me?"

The acrobat sighed. "Well, if we're talking about Tim, I _do_ have a few thoughts running around my head. The first being that we should give him Benadryl."

It was Jason's turn to laugh. "So you're suggesting we drug him?"

"Look, it's not ideal, but he hasn't slept. I'm pretty sure all it will take is one dose of the stuff before he knocks out."

"With the amount of coffee that kid drinks, he'd need the whole box," muttered Jason. Dick shot him a sharp look and Jason raised his hands. "Hey, you're the one talking about drugging him. That's what we call a bad idea, Dick."

Given this new direction in the Tim conversation, Jason felt a sudden surge of relief that the gym in the Batcave was out of earshot and more private than the one in the manor. Red Robin overhearing a plan to essentially knock him out was the last thing any of them needed.

Dick slowly lowered himself to a starting grip. "I know with my depression...everything's worse when I haven't gotten enough sleep." He let out a long breath. "Tim's bound to be tired—"

"What makes you think he hasn't been sleeping?" asked Jason with a fold of his arms. "If anything he's probably oversleeping. He’s been up in his room since he got in from patrol night before last. It's a wonder we even got him down for dinner."

Nightwing performed one last maneuver before landing safely on both feet on the mat. "You were the first one to see him this morning. Did he look like he slept?"

"I was more focused on not killing Tim. He asked me what it was like to _die_ , Dick. Excuse me if I wasn't focused on his appearance. The kid really pissed me off with that. I was  _this_ close to knockin’ the shit out of him. I _did_ notice he was a second away from scattering like a cockroach when I turned the light on."

"Well, _I_ thought he looked exhausted, Jay."

"Well, depression can do that, Dick."

"You're not hearing me."

"No, I _do_ hear you. I just don't think...." Jason ran a hand over his face and sighed. "Sleep's not the kid's only problem. We got food in him, that's a good start. He probably needs more water—pretty sure he's been living off shots of espresso, and that'll dehydrate the shit out of you. I don't know. It's not like when I helped you."

"Tim's different," said Dick. "Besides, depression isn't exactly one size fits all."

"Right. It's like a cheap sweater that anyone can get because it comes in different styles and lengths and patterns. But that's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?"

"Tim's not easy to help. You reached out to me and I came running. When you open up about your emotions, you really open up. You accept help. Tim, on the other hand…" Jason shook his head. "He can be such a stubborn ass. The kid doesn't like to open up."

"Actually..."

"What?"

"It's nothing," said Dick. He clapped the last of the chalk from his hands and rubbed the back of his neck. "Bruce gets home in a couple of hours. We go on patrol in three. Once Tim talks to him, I'd like to think—"

"Oh, Tim's not gonna talk to B."

"Of course he'll talk to Bruce. He agreed."

Jason chuckled. "You're adorable, Dick."

"I'm adorable?" The acrobat bristled. "Why, because I trust that my little brother will keep a promise?"

"Yes. That reaction he gave when we brought it up? You know just as well as I do that he's not gonna say a goddamn word when faced with the old man."

"You're wrong. Tim's gonna tell Bruce."

"I'd bet you, but I don't want your money." Jason gave another short laugh, waved his hand, and said, "Look, just forget I said anything. But don't be surprised when Babybird keeps quiet."

Dick nodded, "Okay."

Jason frowned. That 'okay' wasn't an affirmation so much as it was a heavily loaded beginning of a statement. "Okay, what?"

"Say you're right and he keeps quiet. Do we give him another chance to open up?"

"Depends on how I'm feeling."

"Jason—"

"What? I'm dead-ass serious. I don't know how I'll react to him breaking an agreement of that caliber until it happens. It's down to how I feel in the moment. If he seems scared, I'll back off. If he's doing it on  _purpose_?" Jason shrugged, "B’s gonna learn everything."

"I don't think you should do that."

"I don't think he needs to be in the dark, do you?"

"No," said Dick, wringing his hands. "Especially after...nevermind."

"After what?" When his brother began to shake his head, Jason grew angrier. "After _what_ , Grayson? You keep making these loaded half-statements, and it's pissing me off. You know something about Tim's depression so just tell me. What is it?"

Dick lowered his gaze to a spot on the mat. "He was reckless on patrol the other night, like  _really_  reckless. I'm glad you stayed in with him last night because I think we would've lost him if he'd gone."

"Wait, what?" Jason gave him a double-take. "But you said—"

"I may have sugarcoated the details a little."

"What do you call a little?"

"Tim jumped from a building."

"So? We did that all the ti—" Jason stopped. Realization struck him hard in the gut. His blood rushed but his training kept him calm despite the fear kicking its way through his chest. "He didn't have his hook ready."

"I don't think he had any intention of using it."

"Dick, tell me you're joking."

"I wish I was. I  _really_  wish I was." Nightwing put his face in his hands. His stomach clenched at the memory. "I swung past and grabbed him before he got too close to the ground. He said he'd slipped. We were mid-chase after Penguin, so I didn't bring it up again. We got back to the cave, and he thanked me for saving him, but something was off. I guess he stayed locked up in his room after that. When I didn't see him nearly all day yesterday, it scared me, Jay. It scared the hell out of me."

"Shit. I knew there was something—why didn't you say something?"

"Because...I...I don't know," said Dick. He finally met his brother's pained expression with his own. "I thought I had a handle on this. I  _tried_  to get a handle on this."

"A handle on his depression? How could you? I mean, yeah, we all knew Tim wasn't okay, but the kid only just now came out and told us what's happening."

"That's not exactly true."

Jason's features hardened. "How much did you know?"

"I... You said he doesn't like to open up, but Tim and I have talked before about…this. He promised me that he'd come to me about what's going on, and he has. For a while, I'd get calls randomly from him. He'd ask if I was too busy to chat, I'd tell him I wasn't and stop what I was doing for him, and we'd talk things over. I even joined him on patrol one time because he said he didn't trust himself to be alone."

"He hasn't called you in months, has he?"

"Not since October. But it's fine." Dick gave a small smile. "It's fine."

"You don't believe that."

"You're right; it's not fine. But I can't do anything about it." There was that smile again, only this time it was watery at best. "With March being here, I expected things to get bad for him. I just feel like it's so much worse this time around. Jason, I've been worried he's going to kill himself. Yesterday, I thought he...I worried that he...I was just about to kick in his door when I heard him bickering with Damian." Dick sniffed. "I don’t know if ever I told you this but, uh, when Bruce died, Tim and I got into a disagreement. I told him I wanted him to see a therapist in Metropolis, and he refused. He stormed off and left. I knew he couldn’t handle everything...not all of that grief, anyway. I thought I did the right thing as his mentor and as his older brother, you know? I was just trying to do the right thing as Batman. I thought that was...I thought it would....Now that Bruce is back...I can see Tim's a _little_ better but he...Tim needs _help_ , Jason. He really needs help. After what he did the other night, and what he _said_ last night…" Dick pressed the inner corners of his eyes with his thumb and index finger. "I can't go back to Blüdhaven without knowing he's okay."

Jason squeezed his shoulder. "He will be. We're gonna get him to talk to Bruce tonight. It'll be okay."

"I don't want to fail him again, Jay."

"You won't. Tim will be okay."

 

* * *

 

Jason swore. He should have said something to Bruce then, and he really should mention it now as they trudge into the Bat Cave. Tim cut it too close this time. Jason narrowly managed to save him while Dick and Damian fended off lower-level henchmen. Now he knew how Dick felt that night when Red Robin jumped. Adrenaline surged through him. He'd planned to wait until they were alone to confront Tim, but he found himself exploding the moment the teen headed toward the cave's intelligence system.

"What the fuck was that?!"

Tim tossed his mask aside. "Leave me alone, Hood."

"You almost died."

" _And_ _?_ "

"What do you mean _and_?"

"I didn't ask you to save me."

" **Hey!** " Jason grabbed his brother's wrist. "Are you _shitting_ me right now?"

Tim jerked back, freeing his hand. "Let go of me!" 

"You're telling me you _allowed_ them to corner you? Tim, after everything we talked about, you just—"

"I said lay off, Hood!"

"I'm not going to lay off!" roared Jason. "Dick told me what happened the other night!"

Tim visibly flinched but tried to play it off. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You know damn well what I'm talking about! You _agreed_ we'd mention it to B at the briefing!"

"Mention what to me?" Both boys froze. Bruce stood before them, cowl in hand, his eyes narrowed as they shifted from Tim to Jason. "What did you fail to mention to me at the briefing?"

"Nothing," said Tim. "Everything's fine. Todd got his bell rung too many times tonight, that's all."

"Tim—"

Jason slammed his helmet on the table. "That's fucking bullshit, and you know it! You agreed!"

"Stop it. Now. Both of you." As his sons switched from shooting their mouths off at each other to exchanging sharpened looks, Bruce folded his arms. "One of you, speak."

"It's about Tim." Dick, who'd perched himself somewhere nearby, jumped down and strode toward them. "Jason and I think the two of you need to talk."

"To talk." It was neither a question nor a statement, but they could feel the energy around Bruce shift.

"Yeah," said Jason. "The kid's suicidal." Bruce straightened at his words. When Dick glared at him, Jason shrugged. "It's the truth, and you know damn well he wasn't going to say anything. It's time to own your shit, Babybird. Enough tiptoeing. Bruce deserves to know the truth."

"Everyone out. Tim, you stay."

Damian hesitantly left the cave while Dick and Jason remained close to their brother with no intention of moving.

"I told you both to leave."

Red Hood scoffed. "You know, no offense, Bruce, but we had to deal with Red Robin while you were gone. Whatever you're about to hear isn't anything we haven't heard before."

"Jason."

"Let me rephrase that. We're not going anywhere."

"So be it." As Bruce turned to him, Tim lowered his eyes. He couldn't face the Bat. Not now, not like this. "Tim, is this true? Are you suicidal?"

Tim didn't answer.

Bruce planted his hands on his son's shoulders and stared down at him. "Tim, are you depressed?"

He could only nod.

"And you went out without telling me? I can only assume you did this because you knew I'd pull you from patrol. You thought I wouldn't notice your recklessness tonight? Tim, do you have any idea...?" Bruce took a calming breath. He wasn't yelling, but each of his sons stiffened as if he were. "You are taking unnecessary risks, Timothy, and nearly got yourself killed." All three Robins stared at Bruce. No surprise he saw that little stunt of Tim's. He was Batman. Of fucking course he noticed Red Robin’s actions—or lackthereof. "That is inexcusable."

"I don't want to feel anything anymore," pressed Tim. "I don't want...I feel empty? I feel too full and empty at the same time, and it's like..." He stopped. He couldn't say more.

Bruce touched his cheek. "Timothy, you need to tell me everything. It's okay."

"Breathing feels weird and being alive hurts so much. It's like there's some things that make me happy and I'll feel okay, but then there's like a wave that crashes over me, and I feel empty and like nothing matters anymore. What is the point? For everything good that happens, so many bad things happen, and this city is full of so much awful...shit. It's just like what's the point? Why fight when it's all going to hell anyway? Why even bother living when bad things are going to happen to me anyway? I want to live for the good things but sometimes, like when it's night or when I'm alone or when things get too loud in my head I'm just like what's the fucking point?" Tim sucked in a harsh breath and let it out in a ragged sob. "I don't want to keep doing this. I feel numb, but I feel everything. It's all too much, and I'm so tired. I just...I just..."

They all watched Tim's head drop and his shoulders sag. Jason couldn't stop himself from rushing toward the teen. He pulled Tim out of Bruce's hold and into his own, rested his chin on the younger Wayne's head, and began to shush him. "I've got you, kid. I know how it feels. Hey, I know."

Tim threw his arms around his brother's back and muttered, "I just feel like it's better to go."

"No," said Bruce. "It's not better. It might seem better, hell, maybe even easier to go...but it's not, Tim. It's easy to take your life, but it's a choice that's so complex. It causes ripples in the water. What I say might not matter to you, but I know how I've felt. Why do you think I fight so hard for Gotham? Do you know how many times I've thought of taking my life, Tim? Every time, I chose to stay. It hard to fight that voice inside you that tells you to go. It's so hard, but I stay because I know that whatever I feel right now, whatever thought, whatever horrible thing that's happened, will pass. I lost my parents, and I chose to stay. When I lost Jason...Alfred knows. Tim, you know. I couldn't take it. It hurt me to stay, and I did it every day...and it got better. Tim...if you need to speak to someone, I can arrange that. If you'd like to try medication, we can do that. I will do whatever it takes because I cannot and will not lose another son. Do you understand me?"

Tim pulled away from Jason’s hold and flung himself into Bruce’s arms. "It hurts. Everything hurts, and I'm tired. I don't want to... I want...Bruce, I just want everything to stop."

"I'll make an emergency appointment with the family psychiatrist. We'll start there."

"But—"

"This is not open for discussion. I'm not losing you to yourself, Tim. Go upstairs. I'll be up in a moment for a private conversation."

The teen paused as if debating whether he’d argue with his adoptive father. Realizing that disagreeing with a concerned Batman wasn’t an option, he nodded. "Okay."

"Tim, I don't want you alone when you get upstairs. Find Alfred and wait with him until I come for you."

"Okay."

Jason watched his younger brother head toward the stairs and muttered, "Was B that understanding with you?" Dick's elbow found its way into his ribs. "Hey! It was just a—"

"And you two." Bruce glared from Jason to Dick, "You both knew and you didn't tell me."

"I only knew the kid struggled in March," said Jason. "It's a pattern that's pretty hard to miss. You're a detective, Bruce. You should've seen it."

"And you, Dick?"

Nightwing nodded once. "I knew Tim had been depressed."

"And you didn't inform me."

"It's...it's...I-I've been helping him."

"Not enough." Bruce shook his head. "He needs a _doctor_ , Richard. Being a confidant is important, but he needs someone, or maybe even something, to help bring him down to a safer level."

"Bruce, lay off," said Jason. "Dick didn't know Tim was this suicidal. The kid hasn't exactly been letting him in lately."

The Dark Knight ignored him and continued to press the Boy Wonder for an explanation. "You let him patrol like this?"

"No!" said Dick. "God, of course not! I made Jason stay with him last night when he told us how severe his depression is now. Bruce, I didn't know until last night that he was...that it'd gotten... I-I-I had my suspicions but—"

"If you had suspicions, you should have told me! I could've gotten Tim proper help."

"In case you forgot, I don't live here, Bruce!" snapped Nightwing. "I'm not always in Gotham. I don't know what's going on until someone calls me or lets me know! Even then, in this case, what can I do?"

"In this case, you could tell me! When Tim first pulled away from you, Richard, you needed to tell me that you were concerned about his mental health!" 

Noticing the rising agitation from Bruce, and his brother's stressed expression, Jason quickly stepped between them. "B, you can't be mad at Dick for not telling you. Tim lives under _your_ roof. You see the kid more often than either of us." He ruffled his hair in frustration. "Look, we can play the blame game all day, but the fact of the matter is that the kid is depressed as shit and we need to do something about it."

Bruce turned his back on the two Robins, his cape billowing behind him as he climbed the stairs. "I'm going to speak with Tim. The three of us will discuss this later."


End file.
